


slant

by Sarcastic_Cupcake



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Angst with a happy-ish ending, Can you tell?, Depression, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internal Conflict, Learning to be Human, Self-Esteem Issues, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-03 21:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17885387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcastic_Cupcake/pseuds/Sarcastic_Cupcake
Summary: slant (v.): (especially of light or shadow) fall in an oblique direction.(n.) a particular point of view from which something is seen or presented.





	slant

i sit in the corner eating lukewarm chinese from a styrofoam takeout box, three-quarters done when someone walks in and the thoughts hit (oh god that's a lot of food you fucking _whore_ that’s practically two full meals just _look_ at you, you eat too much and everyone knows it they all judge you for being an absolute _slut_ but you won't stop, will you, you never do) and i close my eyes for a moment, chew just a little bit faster, make entirely sure my fork stops touching my teeth when i take a bite in the hopes that maybe i can stop triggering my own misophonia.

i sit in the corner and try not to be surprised at the person who wishes me a happy valentine's day because what is this day without a valentine of your own to lose yourself in? he seems like the kind of person who has the luxury of being afraid of death, who has a bucket list because he wants to make his life something to be remembered long after that life has become a thing of the past. i knew someone like that once, sort of, but he made it a point to be okay with the thought that he might die tomorrow and that’s fine too. but that’s a different kind of luxury, even more self-indulgent than the first; i’ve started idly wishing i could stop wearing my seatbelt, you know, because if i ever get into a situation where it would make a difference i don’t think i’d very much like to be alive to deal with the aftermath anyway, but somehow i don’t think that’s the same thing at all, is it.

i sit in the corner and try not to look at the arm of one of my friends because it has lines that if they had been mine would have been deliberate, would have been carved from static and screaming and silence and steel. the words I have won't participate and it is only later, thinking about it, that they come. they go “oh, sweetie, the world chews us up and spits us out because we aren't smart enough, aren't loud enough, aren't vapid or likeable or meek or _enough_ enough, but you know what? fuck that, fuck them, someday I promise you we will have built castles out of the sea we were drowning in. you know what? i love you just for still existing, you're such a nerd and we're the same kind of broken, i think. you know what? it’s not okay right now, but it _will be_ okay.” but she gets two hugs, not one, not none, and I hope she knows that this friendship we have _means_ something.

today is a lowercase kind of day, a doze-off-in-the-car kind of day, a quietly overcast kind of day, a watch-the-world-tilt-a-few-more-degrees-to-the-left kind of day. i am not quite invisible, but close, maybe transparent or translucent or some other “trans” word, visible only in my movement but fading to scenery when not interacting. transparent, then; in my stillness i cease to _be_ , according to others, no skew in the background to give my presence away. “OBJECTS IN MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR” says every side-view mirror i see and i think i might be trying to remind myself of something that i've forgotten, somehow. i lay back in my seat and feel my shoulderblades poke out like the wings of a butterfly and i wonder if that's a clue or if that _is_ the thing and oh god, i'm too _young_ to be this old.


End file.
